


Dr. Whitethorn & New York's Assassin

by mynameisfireheart



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, Throne of Glass, doctor rowan, rowaelin, rowan and aelin, rowan whitethorn and aelin galathynius, throne of glass modern
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2018-11-06 02:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11026710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameisfireheart/pseuds/mynameisfireheart
Summary: Aelin Galathynius was New York's greatest assassin. She quit the business and devoted herself to growing her family's cosmetics fortune with her cousin, Aedion. But Aelin still has enemies, and after being attacked by a group of them in Central Park, she ends up in the hospital, with Dr. Rowan Whitethorn as her attending physician.





	1. Chapter 1

Rowan cast an appraising look over the woman on the gurney. Golden hair, turquoise eyes with golden rimmed pupils and  _ shit.  _

That was a lot of blood. It couldn’t have been all hers, otherwise she’d have left the scene in a body bag. 

“What happened?” he demanded. 

“She was attacked by seven men half an hour ago. Central Park west,” one of the EMTs said. “A couple heard her screams and called 911.”

“What was she doing in Central Park after midnight?” Rowan said, and swore under his breath. 

“I think the real question is how she managed to fell five of them before she was taken down,” another EMT said. 

“Don’t tell me we have five more bodies coming in--

“No, Dr. Whitethorn. We don’t. She killed them,” the EMT said. 

Rowan nodded, but didn’t respond. He didn’t really care that the woman had killed five men. He was more concerned about the knife protruding from her thigh and the blood soaking through her shirt. He carefully split her shirt open and glanced over the wounds. There were three deep lacerations in her stomach. He took a look at the knife in her thigh. There was no telling how far it went in- he didn’t know the length of the blade. But he wasn’t going to take any chances. 

“We need to get her to the OR. Now,” he said firmly. “And get me the head of General Surgery, Dr. Havilliard.”   
He turned to survey the team of interns waiting eagerly behind him. “Fenrys, Gavriel, you’re scrubbing in.” 

He watched them scurry off behind the gurney. He sighed and rubbed his eyes--it’d been a long night, and he had a feeling this wouldn’t be an easy surgery. 

“Rowan,” he heard Dr. Havilliard’s voice say beside him. He turned to face his friend. Dorian was looking as handsome as ever, but drawn and tired. He was the youngest head of General Surgery in all of New York City, and he worked hard. Sometimes too hard.

“It won’t be an easy one, Dorian,” Rowan murmured. 

“I saw her on her way to the OR,” Dorian said, “we better get going.”

Rowan and Dorian ran to OR and silently began washing up. They scrubbed their hands and forearms, and donned masks, hair caps, and blue scrubs. 

“Dor—I,” Rowan started to say. 

Dorian gave him an inquisitive look. 

“She’s just so young,” Rowan said after a moment. “She looked so...fragile on the gurney.”

“She’s no younger than I am,” Dorian said, flipping through the hastily prepared chart. Through the window, Rowan saw that the interns and residents prepping the room for surgery. 

“Her name is Aelin Ashryver Galathynius. She has no parents. No siblings either from the looks of it. Just one cousin, Aedion,” Dorian continued. 

“Then we better make sure Aedion sees his cousin again.” 

Rowan pressed the button to open the door to the operating room and stepped inside. The interns and residents were gathered around the seemingly lifeless body on the operating table. Rowan and Dorian gave one another grim looks and began. 

 

****

Aelin’s eyelids were heavy and her mouth felt like it was full of cotton. Her head felt fuzzy, like she’d been asleep for far too long.  _ Where was she? What had happened to her?  _

The park. The men. All that blood. She groaned. She’d killed more of them than she would have liked. They were idiots— _ idiots— _ for attacking her like that. What did they expect of New York’s assassin? Well, ex-assassin. She was technically retired now, not that anyone seemed to care. 

She opened her eyes reluctantly and struggled to sit up. A pair of hands eased her back down. 

“You’re to rest. No moving,” a gruff voice said. 

Aelin turned her head to look at the speaker and nearly gasped. He was, without a doubt, the most attractive man she’d ever seen. And she had spent time with a lot of attractive men during her time as an assassin. He had cropped white hair and pine green eyes and tan, gleaming skin. The bones of his face were strong and sharp, and a swirling black tattoo snaked up one side of his face.

“Whose orders?” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. She was sure that she looked like hell, but she hoped he wouldn’t notice. Or care. 

“Mine,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her. “I’m one of the surgeons who operated on you.”

Aelin smiled widely, and raised a golden brow at him. “Isn’t it a bit strange for a surgeon to wait around for one of their patients to wake up? Don’t you have nurses or underlings for that?” She thought she saw a slight blush cross his cheeks and she had to stop herself from winking at him. 

“Stop basing everything off of Grey’s Anatomy,” the doctor said, “this is perfectly normal.”

“Oh is it?” she said, peering at his name tag. “Dr. Whitethorn.”

Dr. Whitethorn’s eyes darted towards the open door. He got up quickly and closed it. 

“I’m not really here to make sure you’re alright--

“Oh how kind of you!” she huffed, re-crossing her arms over the thin blue cotton of her hospital gown. Hopefully the blue made her eyes stand out a bit. She needed all the help she could get, she thought dismally. 

“Hush,” he said, “I’m here because I want to make sure you won’t get in trouble.”

“Oh that.” She yawned and tried to stretch her arms over her head but winced at the pain it caused in her side. “It will be fine, don’t worry about it.”

“You killed five men!”

“Not before they almost killed me.”

Dr. Whitethorn looked down at his hands. He had nice hands, strong and slender. Surgeon’s hands. “You had every right to kill them. And I’m glad you did.”

“Most people...most people would think I’m a monster,” she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze as he looked up at her. 

“Self-defense does not make you a monster,” he said. 

Aelin swallowed. If only he knew about her past. How many kills she had, how much blood was on her hands. 

“But it might not seem to be self-defense in the eyes of the police. They aren’t likely to believe that you took down those five men alone,” he said. 

“As far as those men were concerned, the woman who they attacked, and who killed five of them, was named Celaena Sardothien,” she said. “And my name is Aelin Galathynius.”

Dr. Whitethorn sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re her. You’re New York’s assassin.”

“Retired,” she corrected. 

“Dorian’s going to be so excited to meet you,” Dr. Whitethorn said. 

Aelin gave him a quizzical look. 

“Dorian Havilliard is the head of General Surgery, and he’s a big fan of yours. When you retired last year he was rather upset,” Dr. Whitethorn said. 

“And what about you Dr. Whitethorn? Are you a fan?” she asked. 

“Rowan. You may call me Rowan,” he said, “and no. I wasn’t a fan of Celaena Sardothien. But I think I could become one.”

“It’s a pity then,” she said, “that Celaena Sardothien is no longer working.” 

Rowan shook his head, and she thought she saw the ghost of a smile on his lips. 

“It’s time for your meds,” he said, pulling two white bottle out of his pocket. 

He handed her the pills and got her a glass of water. She frowned as she tossed them back--she’d always hated swallowing pills. 

“I have to go now,” he said. 

She pouted. 

“ I  _ do  _ have other patients.” He sounded annoyed, though Aelin could tell he was anything but. 

“But I’m sure you don’t have any other patients who are quite so stunningly beautiful and witty as I am.”

“Get some sleep, Aelin,” he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Aelin smiled as she settled back into her pillows. He did like her. Against his better judgment perhaps, but he liked her. 

****

Aelin saw Rowan again the very next morning. He came to change her bandages himself. This presented a slight problem, but Aelin figured his either wouldn’t notice or wouldn’t care. And she was sure he wouldn’t say anything. He was a doctor afterall, he’d seen plenty of injuries. 

“Tell me again why you’re doing this instead of one of the nurses?” she grumbled. 

“Because I don’t trust any of the nurses here,” he muttered, “and you should be pleased that the head of trauma is looking after you personally.”

“I  _ am  _ happy about it. But don’t you think it’s a bit early in our relationship for this?” she said, wiggling her eyebrows at him suggestively. 

He groaned. “Stop that. I can bandage your thigh and your stomach without seeing anything inappropriate.”

It was true. She was wearing a pair of cotton hospital issue shorts and shirt. They’d let her change out of her icky backless hospital gown last night. 

“Fine, fine,” she said, “do as you must.” She flung the covers back, stuck out her leg, and closed her eyes dramatically. She was more nervous to feel his hands against her skin than she would have liked to admit. 

Rowan set out gauze, rolled gauze, tape and scissors. He deftly unwound the bandages around her thigh without once touching her skin. She nearly groaned in frustration. Maybe he didn’t like her that much after all. Or maybe, he was just significantly more honorable than most men she’d dated. That was a sobering thought. 

He couldn’t avoid touching her though, as he wound the fresh gauze around her thigh and secured it with tape. It was just the lightest touch, his delicate, cool fingers against her leg, but it made her heart pound. Even through his gloves, he made her heart pound.

“And now for your stomach,” he said. “I think you’ll have to sit up this. I’m sorry.”

Aelin grimaced as she lifted herself onto her arms. But Rowan was there in an instant, his gentle hands guiding her upwards, supporting her as her wounded body struggled. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

He grunted in response. 

She made quick work of lifting her shirt up and tucking it into the bottom of her bra to secure it. He peeled off the gauze around her stomach and Aelin felt a little woozy when she saw the three long gashes, now neatly sewn up. This was one of the reasons she had retired. She was still young, only twenty six, but her body felt a million years old, with all of its aches and pains. 

“Shit,” Rowan breathed. 

Aelin winced. He had noticed her scarred back after all. 

“Who did this to you?” he said with steely calm. 

Aelin took a deep breath. She could feel the tears well in her eyes. Damnit. She hardly ever got upset about it anymore--what was Rowan  _ doing  _ to her?

“I--I was held captive for a year. When I was nineteen. A job gone wrong--horribly, horribly wrong. I tried to escape a few times and each time they caught me, I was whipped.” 

Rowan sighed. He continued to wrap the gauze around her stomach. 

“Please,” she croaked, “please say something.”

“I wish--I wish I could do something. Anything! I’m a doctor damnit- I’m a doctor. But nothing short of a skin transplant would rid you of those scars. Christ Aelin. How did you even survive this?”

“I almost didn’t,” she said, hanging her head. “But please don’t worry on my account. They only ache sometimes now, and I hardly even remember receiving them.”

“Like hell you don’t remember,” Rowan swore.

Aelin remained silent. 

“I’m sorry, Aelin. I wish there was something I could do, something I could say. Tell me, just tell me if there’s anything I can--

“Anything?” she said, managing to smile at him.

“Yes, anything,” he said with conviction. 

“Go on a date with me.”

“That’s not what I me--

“Come on. You know you want to. Just go on a date with me,” she said. 

“Yes.  _ Yes, _ ” he said. “Yes, okay. Alright. I’d love to go on a date with you. I shouldn’t, since you’re my patient, but yes. Dorian’s going to be so jealous.”

Aelin grabbed his free hand and squeezed. “As soon as I’m better?” she asked. 

“As soon as you’re better,” he said, squeezing her hand back. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Aelin frowned. She was being discharged today but Dr. Havilliard wouldn’t stop droning on and on about antibiotics and wound care. She was _fine_. She’d survived wounds worse than these without being in the hospital for a week. Dr. Havilliard visited her as often as Rowan did. He had been excited to meet her, New York’s assassin, but now he wouldn’t leave her alone.

“Is Ro- Dr. Whitethorn available? I thought he was the head surgeon on my case?” she said, giving him a simpering smile. 

“I’m the head of general surgery,” Dr. Havilliard said, as if that explained anything.

“Well Dr. Whitethorn is the head of trauma, and he’s the doctor I’ve seen most often.”

“Too often,” Dorian muttered.

“What was that?” she said sharply.

“Nothing. But Dr. Whitethorn is unavailable at the moment. He’s in surgery. And you should be happy, you’re being discharged.”

She nodded absentmindedly. She was happy. She was excited to go home to the lavishly decorated loft that she and Aedion shared in SoHo. She just wished she had been able to see Dr. Whitethorn in his scrubs one last time. He made the dark blue cotton pants and shirt look impossibly dashing. Not to mention how sexy he looked in his lab coat. It did things to her.

Shit. She was going crazy in here. 

Two interns, Fenrys and Gavriel came into her room, and Dr. Havilliard left. 

“You’re getting a lot of attention from the Docs, Galathynius,” Fenrys said. He loved to poke fun at her, and she’d spent the last week having to stop herself from stealing one of the scalpels and threatening him with it. 

“Jealous?” She raised one blonde eyebrow at him.

“Just a bit,” he said. 

Gavriel was busying himself with fluffing her pillows and opening the blinds so that sunlight streamed in. He was the older of the two, having completed med school when he was forty-five. 

“I’m being discharged today guys, haven’t you heard?”

Their faces fell. The three of them had struck up an odd sort of friendship over the last week, and she’d miss them. She also thought they would get along swimmingly with Aedion. 

“But we could uh, hang out,” she said awkwardly.

“Like you’re going to hang out with Whitethorn?” Fenrys asked. Gavriel smirked.

“No!  _ Not  _ like that. But you two would get along with my cousin, Aedion. We could go to a bar. Drink beer. Play cards.”

“That sounds like fun,” Gavriel said.

“Bet you haven’t been out of the hospital or your house in months, old man,” Fenrys said. 

Gavriel frowned. The other interns were always making fun of him for his age, though it rarely bothered him. He seemed to like being the Mom of the group, always looking out for the others, and making sure everything got done on time. The other interns, Fenrys included, had lots of sex with one another in the on call rooms and went out every night. Gavriel tried to curb their wild tendencies. 

“Now both of you leave. I have to get changed,” Aelin said. “You can get my phone number from Whitethorn.” 

“He won’t like that…” Fenrys said.

“I don’t care.” It was a cruel joke, but Aelin thought Rowan’s overprotective tendencies were funny. He wouldn’t take well to two male interns asking him for her number, but she wanted the opportunity to make fun of him for it later. Assuming they went on more than one date. Assuming things worked out between them. Her gut clenched. 

“Wait!” she said, grabbing a piece of paper from her bedside table. “Here’s my number. How about you...don’t ask Dr. Whitethorn for it. He might not get the joke.”

“Getting nervous?” Gavriel asked. 

“No.” Aelin glared at him. 

“Mhmm.”

“Out!” Aelin said, shooing them away. 

Once they were gone, she got out of bed slowly, and grabbed the stack of clothes Aedion had brought to her a few days ago. Black jeans, a Nirvana t-shirt, a leather jacket to replace the one that had been ruined in the knife fight, and heeled black boots. In a hidden pocket of the coat, she found a 4 inch switch blade. He knew her well. 

And when she left her room, fully dressed and with her hair tied back, Aedion was waiting for her. He pulled her into a hug and she closed her eyes. She let herself collapse into him, happy to be back with her family--her only family-- after a week away from him. 

“I thought I said no hugging,” a low voice said from behind them. “You could pull your stitches.”

Aedion let out a hissing noise. He released Aelin and turned to face Rowan. “I’ll hug my cousin whenever I want to.”

“I’m her doctor. And I’m telling you it isn’t safe,” Rowan said. 

“And I’m the patient! And I say that I wanted to hug Aedion, my stitches are fine, and that I promise I won’t do it again,” Aelin said, stepping closer to Rowan automatically. 

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay here another night?” Rowan asked.

“She’s coming home,” Aedion said. “She’s been here a week. And I know how to care for her.”

Aelin rolled her eyes. Aedion was very protective. Like a father and an older brother rolled into one. He gave Rowan a run for his money. 

“I’ll be fine Rowan,” she said, “and what are you doing here anyway? I thought you were in surgery.”

“Just got out,” he clarified, pushing his white hair off of his face. Turning he Aedion, he continued, “Make sure you help her change the bandages twice a day. I’ve sent over a prescription for antibiotics and extra painkillers to the Duane Reade closest to your apartment. Make sure the wounds stay dry. Sponge bathe her if you have to.”

“You know where we live?” Aedion narrowed his eyes at Rowan. 

“Of course I do. I’m coming over Friday night for dinner.” 

“Really Aelin?” Aedion said. “Your ER surgeon? You just couldn’t be a normal patient and you know,  _ not  _ date your doctor.”

“Hey! That’s not fair. I made friends with some of the interns too. You’ll like them, I swear.”

Aedion grunted in response. “Let’s go. The car is waiting for us outside.” 

Aelin looked at Rowan, unsure if she was supposed to hug him or kiss him on the cheek or wave. She settled for a simple goodbye and her trademark smirk. 

Outside, the November air was crisp, and she was happy to slide into the heated seats of the black Audi. She’d purchased it, and the services of her driver Klaus, three years ago. 

“Feeling better Ms. Galathynius?” Klaus asked. 

“Yes! Much. Is there any chance I can convince you to take me to Dominique Ansel’s Bakery before we go home? It’s right on the way and I’m so sick of hospital food.”

“Shouldn’t you be eating your vegetables Ms. Galathynius? You need to regain your strength.”

Aedion snorted. He knew how Aelin felt about healthy food. Klaus was a health nut, always trying to get them to try the latest detox fad with him. They always politely declined. But for Christmas, Aelin was planning on buying him a juicer. And a gift card to Vitamin World. 

“I’m perfectly healthy Klaus. Nothing I haven’t been through before.” It was true. During her time as an assassin she wouldn’t have even gone to the hospital for these injuries. Arobyn would have saved her ass and hired a private nurse. She frowned when she thought of him. Luckily, she and Lysandra had disposed of him last year. And taken control of his significant fortune. 

It was exactly the type of money she and Aedion had needed to breathe life back into the failing family business. Over the last year, she and Aedion had turned Galathynius & Ashryver Products into a growing empire. They had begun to specialize in cosmetics, launching a line with Sephora (Aelin had volunteered to model but had been turned down), and partnering with Korean beauty companies. 

Klaus pulled the Audi up in front of Ansel’s and got out. There was no line, and within minutes, he had returned with Aelin’s favorite: chocolate ganache and the cronut flavor of the day (blackberry). She dozed off as the car worked it’s way through SoHo, and when they reached the apartment, she let Aedion carry her inside. She was more exhausted than she liked to admit. 

She managed to change into a pair of silk pajamas and a fleece robe, and then settled by the fire in a velvet covered couch. Aedion was playing with his guitars in his room, and she hummed along to the music. She pulled out the book she’d been reading before she’d been attacked. Something called  _ A Court of Thorns and Roses,  _ by an author she hadn’t read before. 

She tried to get lost in it but failed. All she could think about were Rowan’s pine green eyes. And the fact that it was already Wednesday. He’d be here for dinner on Friday! Two days! She needed to plan the menu. And she needed to convince Aedion to cook it for her. 


	3. Dinner Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rowan and Aelin finally have their first date, with an unexpected twist.

Aedion had refused to cook. But after copious amounts of begging, name dropping, and a huge tip, 11 Madison Park had agreed to deliver a five course meal to her apartment. The only problem was, she had no clue how to present most of it. 

What was this strange red stuff? And why was there an entire course made out of salad? And how come the steaks were so...small? What was it about fancy restaurants and small portions, anyways? If she was going to pay $70 for a steak, she wanted it to be the size of her head. The same went for the chocolate cake. 

“Aedion!” she screeched, hoping he’d hear her over the sound of the television. 

The sounds of football and NFL commentators paused. “What?” he yelled back.

“I need your help,” she whined. 

“Aelin,” he grumbled, walking into the kitchen, “it’s the freakin Giants game. And they’re up by 12.”

“Please?” she said, giving him puppy dog eyes. 

“Fine, fine. What do you need?”

“Can you assemble all of this?” she asked, gesturing at the mountain of white food containers and the antique Wedgwood china she’d gotten out for the occasion. “I still need to fix my hair and Rowan will be here in...ten minutes.”

“Assuming he’s on time.”

“I doubt he’s ever not on time. He’s a doctor, Aedion. His job depends on him being punctual,” she said, sighing happily. “I mean, the man saves lives for a living. How cool is that?”

Aedion snorted. “Didn’t think doctor was your type, to tell you the truth.”

“Why not?” Aelin demanded.

“Because you’re an assassin and you care a whole lot about killing people. Not saving them.”

Aelin’s face settled into harsh lines. “Was. I was an assassin.” She turned and stalked out of the kitchen, leaving Aedion to prepare the food. 

She turned into the master bedroom, which was hers, and headed straight for the ensuite bathroom. The countertops were pink, polished marble, and the tub was nearly deep enough to swim in. She’s used a good amount of Arobyn’s money to purchase the luxury apartment, but not having to share a bathroom with her cousin was worth it. 

She looked in the mirror and sighed at the reflection. She looked tired. Weak. Her injuries were healing but...the attack and subsequent surgery had taken a toll on her. Hopefully she’d dazzle Rowan with her charm and wit and he wouldn’t notice.

She snorted at the thought. Dr. Whitethorn missed nothing. She sighed and dabbed expensive eye cream on, hoping it would lighten the purple shadows under her eyes. Then she put on some makeup, and swept her hair back from her face into a loose bun, using one of the razor sharp hairpins she’d had specially made. Not that she didn’t trust Rowan but she always liked to be armed. And the dress she had planned for tonight didn’t have room for concealed weapons…

Just then she heard the doorbell ring and soon after the sound of male voices—serious, macho, my-dick-is-bigger-than-yours male voices—filtered into her room. 

Shit shit  _ shit.  _ He was here.

Screeching in annoyance, Aelin threw off the silk robe she was wearing and grabbed the pinky-beige colored dress she planned to wear from her closet. It was made of thin silk and it’s folds dipped low over her chest and then skimmed down her body until it hit mid calf. The back dipped even lower than the front, and the whole thing was held up by two tiny, gossamer thin straps. She slipped into a pair of low heels, slapped on some gold jewelry. She was as ready as she would ever be. 

She passed Aedion on her way to the living room, and he paused to grab her arm. 

“You look practically naked,” he said, though his tone was light, and she knew he was just trying to annoy her.  

“And you better make yourself scarce,” she hissed in reply. 

“Don’t worry, I don’t want to be here to listen to Dr. Whitethorn ravish you all night long.” He gave her a wicked grin and hurried into his room before she could retaliate.

Aelin took a deep breath and walked into the living room. Rowan didn’t notice her right away, as he was looking at her collection of classical music records, and she relished the opportunity to stare at him. 

He was wearing a dark pine-green sweater that clung to his muscled torso and was unzipped at the neck, and a pair of soft looking muted brown trousers. He looked...at ease. Relaxed. Normal. 

She could do this. She was New York’s assassin after all…

And then he fixed his eyes on hers, and the breath went out of her body in a great whoosh and she rested her hand on the side table next to her to keep her knees from buckling. 

****

 

She looked...ethereal. Delectable. Beautiful. Perfect…

And then he saw her swoon. 

Rowan was at her side in an instant, his arms around her, holding her up. It was too soon for them to be on a date, she needed to be in bed, resting. She couldn’t even walk without nearly fainting!

“What in the hell,” she spluttered, “do you think you are doing?”

He looked down to see the assassin red-faced and glaring up at him. He couldn’t help but grin. 

“Keeping you from falling over,” he said after a beat, “you clearly shouldn’t be out of bed.”

“Oh relax, I’m perfectly fine,” she said. “See.” She twisted out of his arms in demonstration, and stood a foot away from him, her arms crossed over her chest. He could see the swell of her breasts over the neckline of her shirt and he fought to quell his desire for her. There’d be plenty of time for that later...when she was healed. 

“Then why did you nearly fall over?” he pressed. 

“Because...I was, I was...surprised…” she floundered.

“Because I’m such a handsome bastard?”

“No,” she snapped, glaring again, “You just look a lot different out of your scrubs.”

He raised his eyebrows. 

She rolled her eyes in response. “Oh, you know what I mean. In regular clothes. This,” she said, gesturing at his outfit. Embarrassingly, he had facetimed his friend Lorcan for fashion advice while getting ready. Lorcan, shockingly, had had few opinions on whether or not Aelin would enjoy him more in green or deep burgundy. 

“Do you like what you see?” 

“Yes,” she said firmly, “but I can tell the feeling’s mutual based on the puddle of drool by your feet.” She shot him a wicked grin. “Come on. Let’s eat.”

She walked by him and sashayed into the dining room, which was large (by New York standards) and fitted with a dark wood carved table and six Louis XIV chairs upholstered in a variety of silks. On the table were some of the smallest, but best looking rib-eye steaks he’d ever seen and an array of sides. 

“You cook?” he asked, pulling out her chair for her. She murmured her thanks and slid into the chair gracefully, but he didn’t miss her slight wince. The wounds on her stomach likely still pained her a great deal. He resisted the urge to sweep her up and bring her over to lay down on the couch. 

“11 Madison Park delivers,” she replied. 

Rowan shook his head and bit back a chuckle. “Only you could wrangle take out out of 11 Madison Park.”

“No one wants to upset New York’s most notorious assassin.” A wicked smile lit up her face, turning the rings of gold in her eyes into pure fire. 

“I’m sure they don’t,” Rowan responded as he began to cut into the steak. Across from him, Aelin dug into her own food, sighing audibly as she took her first bite. 

They were silent for a time, the only sounds the clinking of forks against plates and the crackle of the fire from the living room. Rowan did not feel the need to fill the silence. They were comfortable with one another, and the meal was far less awkward than most first dates usually were. He didn’t know if maybe it was because during her time in the hospital they had gotten used to one another or if the food was simply good enough to fill the silence. 

****

 

Aelin fidgeted in her seat, aware that neither of them had spoken for minutes. She needed to  _ do _ something, instead of just sneaking glances at Rowan’s face when he wasn’t looking. Why wouldn’t he say anything? Did he enjoy silence? Did he think she was a huge weirdo for shovelling so much food into her mouth at once? Why hadn’t she paid more attention in the etiquette lessons her parents had made her take when she was seven?

Seeing that he had eaten his last bite, she stood up abruptly and began clearing their plates. She hurried into the kitchen without saying a word, knowing that her face was probably bright red and not trusting herself to say anything. 

She set the plates down in the sink and leaned back against the granite countertop. Why did he make her so nervous? 

“Everything alright?” Rowan said as he walked into the kitchen. “Are you feeling okay? I’m worried about your stitches. You shouldn’t be standing and walking around so much.”

“I’m not an invalid,” she snapped, forcing herself to meet his gaze. 

“Then what’s wrong? One moment we’re having a nice dinner and the next you’re running away to the kitchen.” He chuckled as he said it, as if the idea of her being anywhere near the kitchen was ludicrous. 

“A nice dinner? Nice? Is that what you thought that awkward silence was?” She could hear the edge in her voice and wished immediately that she didn’t sound so unfriendly. 

“I thought that was companionable silence.” 

“Oh. I...I spent the entire time trying to think of something to say. I haven’t really done this with anyone for a while,” Aelin said, wincing a bit. Her last boyfriend had been...well, he had loved her, but she had not loved him as much. 

Rowan moved closer to her, and tipped her chin up lightly with one finger so that she was forced to look him in the eyes. 

“Aelin Galathynius,” he said quietly, “are you admitting that you’re nervous? Is dinner with me too much to handle for New York’s assassin?” 

She narrowed her eyes at him. No, it certainly wasn’t too much for her to handle. But she wouldn’t deign to answer his question. Instead, she leaned forward and kissed him.

It was a soft kiss, one that she did without really thinking, one that just felt right. Rowan didn’t immediately kiss her back, and so she pulled away, her face heating once again. 

“No,” he said roughly, and then pulled her back into his embrace.

This time, he kissed her. Fully, his mouth devouring hers. His tongue slipped between her lips and she opened for him, moaning a little as he cradled her head gently, brushing one palm along her cheek. 

The kiss was both passionate and tender. She could not remember the last time someone had touched her with such care or lit such a fire under her skin. 

Just as she deepened the kiss, her phone began ringing loudly from its place on the countertop next to them. She glanced at it briefly, not wanting to interrupt their kiss for anything. 

She went rigid when she saw the caller ID, and broke away from Rowan’s arms.  

Arobyn was calling. Arobyn Hammel, dead Arobyn Hammel, whose body she had seen with her own eyes, was calling her. 

With shaking hands, she picked up the phone. 


End file.
